


Sorry David

by DramaticCrys



Series: Defining Us [1]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gore, I'm so sorry, Not really though, Or mentions of it, Scars, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Starvation, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, dadvid, lots of blood, poor babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:50:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramaticCrys/pseuds/DramaticCrys
Summary: He can't... He can't do this anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARING  
> MENTIONS OF~  
> SUICIDE  
> DEPRESSION  
> SELF HARM (CUTTING, STARVATION AND MORE)  
> IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS PLEASE BACK AWAY  
> Otherwise~ enjoy!

It started with a few, small words.

Worthless

Pathetic

Ungrateful

Unwanted

Problem Child.

It started with a few words that led to hoodies. Hoodies during the summer. When his body ached to be relieved of it's sauna, the boy ignored it. It led to him avoiding swimming. It led to unscrewing the screw from a pencil sharpener and releasing the glaring silver blade. 

His addiction. He was the addict, the razor was his dealer and the scars were his drug. His cocaine. His alcohol. His bitter demise.

It led to sour looks in the mirror as he scanned his body. This awful body he was placed in. He'd press against his stomach, the stomach he was convinced was never slim enough. 

A body with a stomach that pushed out too far. Arms that were thin, void of muscles. Of strength. Rid of the strength that he could use to pull himself out of this rut. Thighs that rubbed together, only slightly, but touched none the less.

Which led to avoiding meals. Eating only when necessary just to shove fingers down his throat and spew bile into the bathroom toilet when no one was looking. 

He tells himself it's disgusting. That he doesn't deserve to eat. He'll gain more weight if he does, and then who'd want him? He'd deny himself nutrition until his stomach screamed at him. Begging him to release himself of his sinful ways. 

But how could he? There has to be a reason he's alone. So alone. The boy was so touch deprived that his loneliness consumed his entire being. Wrapping around his heart like chains to a dehydrated prison, just a smidge away from reaching an oasis.

It stopped screaming after awhile. It got used to the denial of food. To the feeling of craving something his mind rejected. His mind was rejected love. His mind planned to drag every part of the boy down with it. Down into the deepest depths of despair.

His body found nutrition elsewhere. Eating at his muscles which only made him look bigger. He'd scream and cry, wondering how a god could be so cruel. How a god could abandon him like this. 

This led to looking deeper into the mirror. To staring intently at who the boy truly was. Under scars and baggy eyes. 

Eyes that once shone the brightest of greens, now only reflect the burning light inside of his soul. A land that was once a forest, now burned to the ground. With only ashes in it's wake.

A weak boy. A pathetic boy. 

That's what he'd call himself. Day in, and day out. Attacking at whatever mental psyche he had left. Damaging him forever. Scarring him where it truly hurt.

Leaving mental scars he'd never forget. Even if the ones he left on himself faded. 

He couldn't dig deep enough.

He couldn't press the stained metal blade hard enough against his rugged skin. Tearing the flesh of his left arm open to the point beyond repair. 

He stopped crying at this point. 

That's where he came in. His savior. A man child who was once someone he couldn't stand. Someone he dreaded being near. Now, he craves his touch, his attention. His recognition. His love.

Someone who was once his counselor, is now someone that dishes love anyway he can. Gives the boy smiles. Genuine smiles. Ones that made his heart swell. For a while, the boy felt okay. Truly okay. Not the okay you tell your friends when you're actually hiding bandage covered arms, thick with crimson blood behind your back. 

The man promised him a life of happiness. For as long as he lived. And forevermore.

But how long does forever truly last?

It began again when Max failed a subject in school. Which led to a disappointed stare from his care taker. A scolding. His heart that had just peeked out of his cage was slammed back against the freezing metal bars. Locked away once again.

He couldn't get the look off his mind for months. He lost sleep, thinking of how he could've done better. How his adopted family was regretting ever taking this sad excuse of a boy in. 

This led to long sleeves again. Longer pants. Better hiding techniques. The boy was determined his counselor would never find out. Would never have to look at the small teenaged boy with those eyes again. 

He felt pain this time.

He cried more this time.

He cut deeper this time.

~

Content. Max is content. The most serene he's ever been. No thoughts ran through his head, plaguing his mind with hate and disapproval. No memories replayed themselves, to make his heart clench at the disappointed stares and faces filled with digust.

Just, relaxed. Max finally felt relief. After years of torture from his parents. Even when David adopted him, his past still haunted his every waking moment. They haunted his dreams as well. Things that were supposed to be random colorful chaos turned into a horrific nightmare. Surrounded by darkness. Surrounded by his anxieties and fears. Countless of married couples sending him away, telling his social worker that he wasn't good enough. 

Max didn't let it get to him. At least, not the first few times. But, if everyone is repeating what the others say, how could he ignore it? He's the problem. He always has been. That's why his parents left. That's why everyone left. 

Max tried to change. He truly did. He stopped eating to slim himself down. Maybe he was too big for the foster parents? He tried getting better grades. Maybe he was too stupid? He tried keeping to himself. Maybe he was too needy? He tried being open and happy. Maybe he was too enthusiastic? He tried doing more chores. Maybe he was ungrateful?

Except David. Max chuckled dryly. David was just too nice. He's gotten tired of Max too. Everyone does. Max gets tired of himself. 

But he really felt the exhaustion today. He felt his back hurt from the weight he's been carrying. He felt his eyes getting tired from sleepless nights. He felt his heart clench in distaste when he looked in the mirror. He felt the cuts on his inner arm, by the armpit burn. The cuts on his thighs stung. He felt the insults surrounding him in a black aura of depression. 

Max is tired. 

Tired of living. Tired of being hated. Tired of trying with no positive results no matter what he does. What can he do? To make this all go away? 

He formed a fist and dragged two fingers along his left arm. Tracing the arteries up to the elbow and to his armpit. 

Max can fix this.

He can fix himself.

The only way he can. 

Calm. The first time in a long time, Max is calm. Relaxed. Carefree. As blood drips down his numb arm. Max probably damaged the nerves. He can't even move his left arm to cut the right. But Max doesn't care. Because he's calm. 

"Sorry David." His hoarse voice slipped out as he sank deeper into the crimson tub.

~

The handle to the bathroom jiggled slightly. 

"Max?"


	2. Max?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God. I was reading this over, proofreading and shiz, and realized I fooking made Max on the floor instead of in the tub...

David came home early today. 

He finished his work quickly and went to the store. David whistled a tune as he trudged through the mostly vacant store. He grabbed some homestyle bake and a few games to play.

David knew Max has been having a hard time, harder than he was before. He didn't know why, Max didn't tell him. But he just had a feeling. 

He unlocked the door and was let into a dark living room. He immediately knew something was off. Max is always in the living room. Mainly because the consoles are, but David likes to think Max was waiting for him. 

He set down the bags and walked up the stairs. 

"Max~?" David called out to him softly, in case he was asleep. David tip toed into Max's bedroom and turned the light on. 

It was empty.

He placed his hands on his hips and furrowed his brow in confusion. He turned and saw the light of the bathroom against the carpet, coming from underneath the door. 

David walked to the door and called out. No answer. 

He jiggled the knob and twisted it open.

~

Blood. 

There is so much blood. 

Blood smells so bad. It smells like rust, but thicker. The smell consumes you. Especially when you realize it's blood. Your loved ones blood. Spilled across the floor. Dripping down his arm, some lands on the floor, but it mainly stains the tub red. A dark red. It's a traumatic experience.

It's even more traumatic when you see it spilling from the body. Seeing it gush out like waves in a hurricane. Their eyes closed and their chest barely rising for every breath taken.  
But he wasn't lack of movement. 

He gurgled, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. His chest jerking violently and his arms spazzed viciously. The water splashed around him, mixing in with the blood on the floor. 

He moved quickly around the room. Grabbing items and aid kits as he prepared to stop the bleeding. He'd talk himself through what he was doing, to ground him to reality. To keep him from panicking. 

He just wants Max to be okay. 

That's all he wanted. Why couldn't he let Max have that? Why couldn't David be a better guardian. A better friend.

David loves Max. It's as simple as that. 

He would never forget the sight. The sight of a young boy he knows and loves, bathing in his sorrows. His blood, representing his hatred of life. His eyes begging David for help, but the child's mind telling him to let him go.

~

Guilt.

Shame.

Denial.

Confusion.

Sheer terror.

David had known of Max's depression. He knew Max was having a difficult time opening up to him. Max would always stare at David and shake his head. 

Like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. During these times, David would make Max's favorite food. Mac and cheese with hot dogs and a side of corn and binge watch bad scary movies. 

Max would laugh and point out all the mistakes. He was better after. Well, he seemed better. He looked better after a night of quality family time. He looked like he forgot what had him upset earlier.

But looks are deceiving.

Max tried to hide his emotions, and most of them went right over David's head. But David learned how to read Max. Not to mention his language after he came home from school with pursued lips and a deeper scowl then before. He learned to let Max vent about how "stupid" in Max's words, his classmates were. David would nod occasionally and listen intently. He'd offer any advice, careful with his words to not upset Max. He knew to make chocolate chip pancakes when the bags under Max's eyes were deeper than the night before.

He knew of Max's depression, but he thought Max was getting better. Max would've hated a therapist and David for even mentioning it. So he never did. David never wanted to push for an answer either. He wanted Max to open up whenever he felt ready. If he ever felt ready.

Max hid it so well. David would see previous scars from before he adopted him, but never the fresh cuts. He thought he stopped. He thought Max was happy here, with him. Maybe he was wrong? 

He felt wrong. He failed Max. He was supposed to be there for him. But now? What's he supposed to do? What can he do other than call the police and try to save the small angry boy he knows and loves? He can't do anything.

He failed him.

~

Drowing.

Suffocation by water. The action of water filling your lungs, tearing you down into the depths of the unknown. 

You think you're splashing into a puddle and next thing you know, you can't see the sunlight. Shades of blue surrounding you. Dragging you deeper. Dragging you down. Pulling you away from your family, your friends, the things you love; everything. Until the only thing you think, the only thing you can feel, is the suffocation.

Your throat constricting and your eyes bulging. Chlorine seeping deep into your eyes, permanently damaging how you view the world.

Most of the time, you don't even know it's happened until you're already so far down with a cramp in your thigh. A pain so fierce, but the never ending blue stretch of saltwater is stubborn.

You can't move. 

You open your mouth for air. 

To scream for help.

But all you do is swallow thick water. It flows into you like a storm. 

Then you realize, why struggle? Your fate is written in stone. Your destiny can't be changed. You were either meant for greatness, or not. And if you're not, why wait? Why put yourself through so much pain, if you were only meant to be a bystander? An extra in a movie. "Clerk A" with 2 or 3 lines. 

You can feel your lungs burn, whether it's from the lack of air, the water or both. You don't really care anymore. 

And then you're calm.

You let the water fill your lungs.

Your arms no longer flail. 

You reach your hand up once more, but close your eyes before anyone can grab it. Or maybe they did. 

You'll never really know. 

Maybe you don't have anyone waiting for you when you wake up.

Maybe your mom turns her head at your scars or your dad makes new ones. Maybe you don't have parents. Family. 

Maybe your best friend is too caught up with their latest fling. Maybe your significant other is too busy on their phone or Snapchatting other people. 

Maybe you're alone. All alone. And even though there's inspirational commercials telling you how you're the exact opposite, it doesn't feel that way. Maybe you'll always be alone. 

But you'll never truly know.

Until you wake up. 

So Max, wake up?


	3. Apathy

Apathy.

Have you ever cared about something? 

Had a favorite hobby to make you relax?

Had a pet to make you smile?

Had a family who loves you? Or at least tries to.

Do you care about stuff like that?

Maybe you care about school, care about what college you'll get into, or what career path you'll take.

Maybe you care about sports. Maybe you're a star athlete and spend all your time with your team and on the field.

Maybe you care about drawing.

Writing.

Photography.

Romance.

Your friends.

Your popularity.

All these things, the things you care about, tell a story of who you are. 

Your story could lie in the world you create with a colored brush. 

It could lie in the crowds cheering your name as you score. 

It lies within you. 

You care about whatever you're passionate about. You care so much that losing it would be tragic. 

But could you imagine not having anything to draw? 

Not putting enough effort for tests?

Not being able to score the goal, not because you can't. But because you don't care.

You put you pencil down. 

Your camera.

Your notes.

Your ball.

Your hobbies.

Your interests.

Your friends.

Your family.

Your life.

Maybe you'll try again tomorrow.

But you never do. 

Because you don't care.

You don't care anymore.

You don't care if you fail.

You don't care if your team loses.

You don't care if your drawings never are completed.

You don't care if your story is left unfinished.

You pride yourself just for getting up in the morning.

But soon enough. Even that fades.

You can hear your alarm for school, but you don't care. You turn away. You don't care enough to shut it off. 

So it blares. Screams in your ear about the life you're leaving behind.

Just because you don't care. 

But that eventually fades too.

You can't help it. You just…

Don't care. 

Before you know it you'll end up like good ol' Max here. 

A young boy. A smart boy. So many opportunities. So much passion. 

Everything left to his apathetic state.

He can't think about a damn thing without adding, "what's the point?" To the end of it. 

What IS the point? 

Why get up? 

Why study hard for school if your brain already tells you you're not smart enough to pass?

Why try and make friends if you've already convinced yourself that you're unlikeable? 

Why try in general if everything you do just ends with you in tears? 

Why get up if you have nothing to truly live for anymore? 

Maybe you won't get up. Maybe you'll try to end yourself like Max did. 

Maybe you'll succeed.

And then what?

You'll never get to find your purpose. 

You'll never get the thrill of looking at a drawing you've completed and being so excited with how it turned out.

You'll never feel the adrenaline running through your veins as you score a winning goal. 

You'll never capture the perfect picture.

You'll never get to college. 

You'll never find someone.

Fall in love. Get married. Have kids. Grow old. 

But who cares right?

~

Max always wondered what happened after death. Was there a heaven? A hell? Will you get reincarnated? Will you rot in the ground? 

Will you get to meet all the loved ones that passed? 

Will you meet the ones on Earth when it's their time? 

Is there a god?

Is it the Christian god?

What if there are multiple? 

You might ask yourself these things. Maybe not until it's your time, but you'll ask. Wonder about the unknown. 

Max did. 

As his life flashed before his eyes, he wondered whether he'll be accepted into heaven. 

Maybe he'll be sent to hell for attempted suicide. 

But who cares? 

Who cares if your parents cry themselves to sleep. 

Who cares if your parents divorce because they see too much of you in the other. 

Who cares if your friends blame themselves for not seeing it. 

Who cares if your pet is sent to the pound because no one can bare taking care of something that reminds them of you. 

Who cares if your siblings follow your example. 

Who cares?

~

This is the first time David has been void of any emotion. The first time his eyes were carried by dark bags. 

He hasn't slept. How could he? 

Max hasn't woken up yet. 

It's been almost a week and Max's bright eyes haven't broke through. 

David can't imagine what would've happened if he hadn't decided to come home early. 

He can't shake the thought. 

The thought of the small teenaged boy, lying in cold water. Bloody water. His body heat lost. The color draining from his skin. His mind already long gone. 

David clenches his jaw and tries to not cry. Again. 

He reaches up and gently holds Max's hand. Max was always warm. He was like a warm water bottle. 

But now?

He skin feels like ice.

He flips Max's hand over and presses his thumb against the skin of his wrist. 

He feels his heartbeat. Faint, but there. He's still alive. 

He's still alive. 

David lays his head down against Max's hand. 

He's still alive. 

He presses his hand against Max's chest. Feeling the steady rise and fall. 

He's still alive. 

He's still alive.


	4. Twisted Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh sorry.  
> I had an idea and rolled with it. Hopefully it makes sense???  
> If it doesn't, not knowing won't effect the story.

Decisions.

A small word. Big meaning. 

I mean, have you really looked at the word? Thought about it?

You literally have the choice to go route A or B. And that, right there, could change every single thing. 

Make your life better. Make your opinion on life improve. 

Like what if you did buy that lottery ticket?

What if you bought it and won? I don't mean a lousy 2 dollars. I mean BIG. Big time money. Over a million. 

Then what?

What if you spend it on a car? A house? Others?

Then your fresh outta money hun. 

But what if you save it? Invest it even? 

Then you'll have more money. You thought a million was big? Try a billion.

But, what if you don't win? 

What if the gas station you buy it from gets robbed? 

Maybe you get hurt?

Decisions are risks. Everything we do is risking something or another. 

Talking to that girl the other day.

You became friends. Best friends. You told eachother everything. 

Years passed, then you're suddenly; not. You don't talk, hang out, anything. But you hear whispers through your school. About you. What did you do? 

You talked to that girl the other day. 

Crazy isn't it? How everything in your life is tied together? 

That your decisions can be your rise; or downfall. 

Your mind is a crazy thing isn't it? 

Having thoughts, ideas, opinions? That means you have free will. 

I know! Crazy. You have it though. Just as much as the next person. If you're in one of the many free countries in the world. 

You have the freedom to say what you want. Do what you want. Love who you want. 

Thoughts are a part of free will. Thoughts are a part of your mind. Having thoughts means you're human. Means you're your own person.  
Your thoughts contain your inner most desires. Your demons. 

Your thoughts can make you strong. Make you build bridges between the unknown and your world. Lift boulders and carry your friends through tough times.

Your thoughts can make you brave. Telling you to fight your fears. That you can do this. Sticking up to that annoying kid from school that just won't leave you alone.

Your thoughts can make you intellectual. And I don't mean in school. Anyone can study flashcards. I mean your ability to think outside the box. To get yourself out of a situation. To truly question, "why?".

Your thoughts can let you wander. Let you leave the life you live through daydreams as you stare out the window of your car. Staring at the trees blending together as you look beyond. Makes you question past our known knowledge. Asking, 'what if..?'.

Your thoughts can also make you a liar. Make you think about what would happen if you lied. If you got caught? Send chills up your spine with it. Pushing adrenaline through your veins. 

Your thoughts can be the center of a bright personality, or an indescribable darkness hidden within you. A part you refuse to release. 

But doesn't everything combust when held back?

Even family-friendly dogs become vicious if cornered. 

So you sometimes let that little demon out. 

When you're all alone. 

No one to find you like this. 

No one to tell you it's wrong. 

No one to tell you it'll be okay. 

Your inner demon crawls out through the permanent line you press into your skin.

Surrounding you in the darkness you've held back all day. As you smiled at your friends like everything was fine. Even if you are truly dying inside. 

Telling your over enthusiastic green haired friend that you're just tired. That your eyes are swollen and red from waking up too early.

Telling your dorky friend that knows too much that it's just your normal teenage angst. 

But you lied. 

You're a liar. 

Liar liar.

What would your friends think?

If they know you lied? So easily too. Right to their face.

Are you even their friend?

"Stop."

How can you live with yourself?

"I can't."

How can you smile so brightly when they trust your words?

"I'm sorry."

When you lied to the only person who ever cared for you?

"I can't tell him."

Lying to the man who saved you from your hellish life?

"I didn't ask him to."

Lying to David?

"…."

Poor poor David.

"I don't deserve him."

And he doesn't deserve you.

~

"I don't want to do this."

"I don't want to be here."

"I don't want to be ALIVE."

"Please just leave me alone!"

"Go away!"

"Stop!"

"Please?"

"I'm begging you."

"You're destroying me."

You've destroyed yourself.

~

"I didn't ask for this."

Yet here we are. Look at you. Sitting in a pool of your own blood. Did you even think about how traumatic this would be for David?

"Traumatic?"

A man who spent so much wasted time on you. Would die for you. He'll blame himself you know. 

"What?"

But what does that matter? You've already done it. You're already dying. 

"You're coming with me."

No. 

I'm moving on. 

"What do you mean?"

While you move on to wherever, I'll be transferred to who finds you. 

"David?"

David. 

Look what you did. 

Look at how spoiled you are. 

Just passing the sadness along. You're dragging David down the path you've taken. 

He'll blame himself for your mistakes. 

Deem himself unfit as a guardian. 

And then what'll he do?

~

Free will let's you have thoughts.

Thoughts lead to decisions.

Decisions lead to consequences. 

Fate is twisted.

And life will laugh in your face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments you've been giving me. I truly feel loved and I'm glad your not only enjoying the story but have it connect with you.  
> I'm really sorry I don't reply, I just never know what to say! But if you read this, thank you for commenting, or leaving kudos, or just reading!

In your last moments. What do you do?

When you realize the light inside of you is fading. When you can no longer speak. When your mind is numb and your breathing is shallow.

Is there a guide? 

Do you question life? 

God?

Maybe you think about all the good and bad times that have led you to your death bed. Or how much you'll miss those moments. Even the bad. 

Because while good moments are great, sure, bad moments show your strength. They show who your real friends are and it proves how strong you are for surviving the dangerous storm.

Bad moments show you're alive. 

Because feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all.

Right?

~

David stared at Max. His eyes were closed and he was barely breathing. 

There was a tube down his nose. Bandages around his wrist.

His face was returned to full color. 

But his eyes have yet to open.

David wondered if Max will ever wake up. 

If he does, what will happen then? David can't just let this go unseen. 

David already saw too much. Much more than he can handle. 

He can't reprimand him either. 

That wouldn't work. Just make him hate David more. Or maybe hate himself more. 

David cringed.

So what?

What is he supposed do if Max wakes up?

If those bright eyes open and he stares at David with such hate for bringing him back to a world he tried to leave. 

Would he try again?

Would he leave with a social worker?

What is David supposed to do if Max never wakes up?

~

Maybe you don't think of anything. Maybe you blink slowly with a neutral face. Breathing in softly. Your chest just barely rising. 

Like you're in a state of death. 

Your body finally coming into terms with your mind.

Without any thoughts.

Just staring off into the distance. 

But not Max. 

Max wanted to live. 

He wanted to breathe. To feel the air fill his lungs.

He craved those small moments with nature walks with David where everything was peaceful. Birds singing, leaves shaking, and everything else was silent. 

He desired moments you can truly appreciate. Like your friend tripping over air, or someone you hate. 

Like a comforting touch from a loved one. 

Like rain. 

Or sunshine. 

Like freshly fallen snow. 

He thought of everything he would miss. Not people wise of course. 

I mean all the TV shows yet to finish their story. 

Like Rick and Morty. 

South Park is coming back soon too. 

He'll miss laughing at really bad old scary movies. He'll miss sitting literally at the edge of his seat of a mystery. 

He'll miss getting really into romance movies, even if he tells people otherwise.

He'll miss all the feel good moments from Disney and Pixar movies. You know the moments that just make even the worst of days bright. The ones that give you hope for a better tomorrow.

He'll miss all of his unfinished fanfiction too. Waiting, checking everyday just for a new update. Staying up late at night just to finish the chapter and be able to fangirl in peace. 

But…

Not all stories are finished. 

Some are left with an x amount of chapters but haven't been updated in years. 

Max wonders what happened to those authors. The authors of the stories he loves. The stories he'd wait for days to update. Days that turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months and so on.

Did they get tired of the story?

Writer's block?

Are they okay? 

…

Did they cut the break line too?

I guess you'll never know, Max. 

Cause not all stories end the way you want them to. 

They just cut off abruptly. 

Well let me tell you this…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if any of you need to talk you can always talk with me personally on Tumblr.  
> DramaticCrys  
> Just-vent-fam


	6. The Plug

Confused. 

Simply put; Max is confused. 

Where is he? 

He can hear, but he can't see. 

He can feel, but he can't touch. 

He's surrounded in darkness. His eyes won't open. And if they are open, he is blind to the world around him. 

He flexes his fingers. 

Does it work? 

Is he moving?

His head hurts. 

A pain so intense he desperately tries to grasp his aching skull. 

There's a hammer pounding on it. Simple, small, antagonizing taps. In the same spot. Over and over and over again. 

Tha-thump

Tha-thump

His arm hurts. In fact, his whole body hurts. He's in pain. 

Why? What's wrong with him?

Where is he? 

Why can't he move?

"Max~!" A voice? 

David?

"Wake up Max! It's time for school!" 

And just like that. 

His eyes opened. 

Max sat up and looked around. 

He's confused. 

Why is he here? 

"Hurry up and get ready Max! It's your first day!" First day? Of what? 

Despite wanting to ask questions, he responded and moved to get dressed. 

Max quickly got dressed and walked down the stairs to see David in a fruffly pink apron with a spatula in hand. 

"Max! Oh you look great! I want to take a picture!" 

Why? 

David hurriedly pulled out his phone, almost dropping it in the process and pulled Max close to him, wrapping his arm around Max's back and placing his hand on Max's shoulder. He held out his phone and smiled brightly. 

"Say cheese~!" Max smiles, despite his confused state. He doesn't mean to. He just does. He can feel his face stretch, but only slightly. 

Though he doesn't show it, he's happy. 

Max remembers now. That was Max's first day of school ever with David as a guardian. 

David spent an entire week checking out the best stores to make sure Max had the best supplies and clothing money could buy. 

Max was grateful for that. 

Even if he didn't say so. 

He closes his eyes, and settles into the darkness. A darkness that had once backed him into a corner, was now rocking him gently to sleep.

~

"Hey Max!" 

Max's eyes opened. He thinks. It's still dark.

Was that a voice? Where is it coming from?

"A brought another book to read! Since we finished the last one!" 

Max internally groaned. He knew that high pitched voice. 

That's David. But at the same time…

Maybe it's not. 

He sounds tired. And sick. 

His voice is lowered slightly and he's losing his voice. Max can tell from it's scratchiness.

He's probably lonely.

"Max~ please?" 

David's voice surrounded him. Echoing in his darkness. He sounded happy. But it was fake. Like he was trying too hard. 

"You gotta wake up, okay?" 

Wake up? Is he sleeping? For how long? Why is he sleeping? 

Max felt his chest constrict. Muffled sounds surrounded him now. David was crying. 

Max wanted to cry too. 

He's sorry. 

He doesn't know why. 

But he doesn't want David to cry. 

He wants to comfort the man who took him in all those years ago. The man that treats him as his own and loves him like Max is his own. The puffy haired teen wants to pat David's head, like David does to him when he's sad.

Stop crying David. 

I'm still here. 

Max tried to move. He tried to open his eyes. 

But he can't. 

Or is it he won't?

~

David isn't so sure about anything anymore. He's just tired now. 

Max has yet to wake up. 

Though it's been 3 weeks. 

They want to pull the plug. 

He's just a kid. 

What did David do wrong? Why is he here? Why is Max here? 

Today is Sunday. 

Sunday is family fun day. 

Max usually just groans at the mention, but he gets pretty heated when David throws down a draw 4 when Max has one card left. 

David chuckles. 

Oh the glare he would give. Like he was shooting poison daggers straight through the counselors heart. His crystal green eyes filled with playful rage.

His crystal green eyes that have yet to open.

David suddenly didn't want to read anymore. 

He just wanted Max to wake up. 

He's just a kid. 

Max is just a kid. Yet here he is. Laying on a white bed. With a white blanket. In a white room. 

Max hates the color white. Says it's too bland for his tastes. He prefers red or purple. Something that isn't the same everytime you see it. 

David's starting to hate it too.


	7. Twitch

They were going to pull the plug. 

They were going to pull the plug on Max. 

On Max. 

4 weeks now. 

He's so thin. 

David walked into the room, his face was dull without his usual smile. But what was there to smile about? David moved closer to Max. So thin. He ran his hand up Max's arm in a soothing motion. David's hand could fit around most of Max's bicep. He pulled his hand away from Max's arm and stared at it. 

His hand is a little big. 

His eye twitched.

That's why it's so easy. 

So easy to take his son's once full bicep in his hand. 

David's face turned red. Turned red as he tried to hold back his tears. Which he failed at, yet again. He's been crying ever since they mentioned…

To let nature take its course.

To his favorite camper. 

His best friend.

His son.

"Max?" He sat down on the white bed and smiled down at Max. He placed his hand gently on the sheet, careful of moving. It reminded him of how he used to wake Max up in the morning. 

David hated waking Max up because he knew Max barely had any sleep. And when he did it was broken, so he was still exhausted. 

David contemplated on taking him to the doctor for insomnia, but he didn't want to give Max, an opportunity. He also didn't want Max to feel like there was something wrong with him, because of the pills.

He should've just asked.

He'd place his hand gently on Max's head and run his fingers through his puffy, surprisingly soft hair and whisper him a good morning. 

David likes to think that Max appreciated being woken up peacefully, rather than a noisy alarm clock. Even if Max denies it with all his being.

David repeated his well adapted process of waking Max up. 

"Max~" he cooed gently. 

"You have to wake up now, okay?" His voice cracked. He lowered his head until he pressed against Max's chest. He pressed his ear down and listened to the smooth, rhythmatic thump of his heart. 

Tha-thump

Tha-thump

David moved his hand onto the bed and gently took Max's in his own. 

His hands were cold. 

David felt cold. He swallowed and closed his eyes, letting the soft thumps rock him to sleep.

~

"No."

"Oh come on Max! It'll be fun!"

"Your definition of 'fun' doesn't match mine, David." 

"But it will! Once you experience true nature in it's finest!" 

"I already got enough of that at camp. Which is all the nature I'll ever need!" 

"Either way! We're going and you'll have so much fun!" Max groaned. 

Max didn't understand why David loved camping so much. 

Mosquitos everywhere.

It's cold.

There's no connection to the outside world.

Probably a homicidal homeless man.

I mean, what more of a reason do you need to stay home?

 

And Max was right to hate it. 

Because it's raining. 

"Dammit David! Why didn't you check the weather?" Not only was it raining, it was storming. Max shielded his eyes with his arm as he tried to help David set up the tent. 

"I was too excited to finally go camping with you!" They would've walked back to the car and sat out the storm there, but it was miles away. 

After slipping too many times to count and almost stabbing themselves with the metal sticks that hold the tent up, they finally settled in. 

They hurriedly got inside and closed the tent flaps. David hurriedly layed down towels before he and Max took off their soaking shoes. 

"I literally despise you." David laughed. 

"What's nature without a little unpredictability, huh?" David smiled and tucked his knees close to his chest. Max sat next to him and crossed his ankles loosely. 

The rain surrounded them entirely. Yet it was peaceful. The only sound being the pitter patter of the rain against the plastic. Max enjoyed the peace. 

 

Max woke with a start. And sat up quickly. He rubbed his head and looked around. 

"David?" 

It was pitch black in the tent, and empty. The pitter patter of the rain had stopped and all was silent. 

It was the dead of the night. 

And Max was alone. 

He tried to calm his breathing, making sure to take slow and deliberate breaths. The tent zipped open. 

"Max! You're awake! Come on!" David's head popped in with his bright and obnoxious smile. 

Max let out a sigh of relief and nodded. 

Max put on his shoes as best as he could, since it's still dark, and walked out. 

The trees covered any sort of moonlight that would be visible. He could barely see a thing, but David patted his back and pushed Max alongside him. 

Max's feet were killing him. They seemingly walked for hours with no true destination. Just David as a guide to who knows where. 

"Where the hell are we going?" 

"To our stop! Which is here!" David placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, proud with himself.

It's an opening. It was still dark, but the sky was lit up with vibrant colors. Dark hues contrasted perfectly with the bright stars and the full orange moon. 

"It's a full moon AND a clear night, so I wanted to show you how pretty nature can truly be!" David smiled and walked farther out in the open field.

"Wow." Max was truly astonished. But, 'beautiful' wasn't doing the sight any justice. Max walked closer to David, his eyes still stuck on the sky. When he finally approached, he sat down on the damp grass, not really caring if his pants got wet from it. David sat next to him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" 

Max grunted, but didn't deny it. 

David pointed at the sky. 

"You see that bright star there?" Max nodded. 

"That's the North star. One of the brightest stars there is. Travelers use it to tell their way, or they used to anyways. Now GPS is a thing." David let's out a little laugh.

"Do you know any constellations?" David nodded enthusiastically, glad that Max was taking an interest. 

"Of course! What kinda camp counselor would I be if I didn't?" David laughed and pointed up at the sky. 

He traced pictures, connecting points in the sky and painted a picture with words. Stories of valiant battles and true love all contained in a series of stars.

Max decided he kinda liked camping. 

Kinda.

~

David was still deep in his sleep. Not a snore, not even a twitch of his eye. He was still settled in close with Max, their hands still intertwined.

Then a twitch. 

David jolted awake and jumped ten feet in the air with the small movement. 

He stared down at Max and watched him closely. 

His hand twitched again. 

He twitched. 

He's twitching.

He's moving!

David ran off screaming to the nurses.

~

It's white now. 

All white. 

Max was blinded by the sudden change and moved his arm to cover his eyes. 

Only for a devastating pain to shoot up his arm and spread throughout his body. He gasped and whimpered. He would've screamed, but his throat felt as though it was torn to shreds. His nerves were on fire and he couldn't do anything other than will the pain away.

He wants to scream, but he can't. 

His voice is hoarse and he could feel how dry his mouth is. 

Max looked around the room. 

It's empty. 

Or it was. 

David burst into the room, speaking incoherently to someone and he turned to Max. 

He froze. 

Max froze. 

They stood, well, David stood and Max layed there, exchanging stares. David's was more out of, "I'm probably going crazy" while Max's was, "where the fuck are we?"

Max swallowed. 

David looked sickly. 

He had dark bags under his eyes, dulling the bright green of his eyes. Yet even those have seem to lost their color. 

David lost weight, if that was possible. He was skinnier than he was before. Which is truly saying something. 

David looks sickly. 

And it's Max's fault.

"Hi…" His voice squeaked, barely letting out a sound. Yet David heard it. It was like music to his deaf ears. He could probably have heard it a mile away. And then sprinted here to see Max. 

David let out a choked sigh of relief and his face scrunched up. 

"Max~!" David's face turned red as he whined and quickly joined Max's side. He looked like a dehydrated tomato finally getting watered. He wrapped his arms around Max as tightly as he could, scared of letting go. 

Max held back a wince.

But he smiled, none the less. 

"Sorry David."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I could've killed him.  
> But how would I mention the PTSD that comes after all this?  
> I have much more planned for this story, and it definitely doesn't end with Max's death. At the moment.. Maybe in the future. Who knows?


	8. A Little Much

Okay, this is a little much. 

At first it was nice and sweet.

Now it's just pissing Max off. 

He's been holding back the pain for David for quite a while now. 

At first, Max thought since David had suffered so much, Max should be fine with a tight, excuse me, bone crushing hug. 

But Max feels as though his bones are snapping into a bigillion pieces.

Max gently lifts his right arm and pats David's back. 

"O-Okay, you're hurting me a bit." David jumped away as quickly as humanly possible.

"Oh gosh Max! I'm so sorry!" David scratched the back of his neck and looked away. 

They were both silent. It was an awkward silence. A silence where they had everything to talk about, but nothing to say.

Max looked down at the white sheets. 

He's ashamed. 

Ashamed of himself.

Little to his knowledge, David was also ashamed. 

Ashamed of the fact that he couldn't help Max. 

Ashamed of himself.

Thankfully, the doctor finally came in. 

~

It's been two weeks, and Max is doing better. 

He lost his strength tremendously. 

He can't grip tightly with his left hand. 

But he's awake. 

And Max can't help but feel awful. Not because of the pain in his arm, but in his chest. 

David's very obvious, about everything. Especially when he's trying to hide something. This something being his questions for Max.

Why did you do it?

What were you thinking?

What happened?

Why did you try to leave me?

Did I do something wrong?

Max?

Max couldn't handle answering right now. Let alone actually seeing David, knowing that he needs answers. He deserves answers. 

…

God damnit. 

~

Therapy has been going well though. Physical therapy. 

Therapy therapy doesn't start until tomorrow. 

Which Max is just delighted for of course! 

Forcin- I mean, willingly talking about all his feelings, his emotions, his past. 

Ugh. 

Max already has a headache. 

"Max?" Max turned at the sound of his name. David gave a weak smile and let himself into the too bright of a room. 

David was in his usual attire, which, when Max first saw it years ago, had creeped him out. 

He still wore his lemon yellow shirt around his neck, though the color has faded quite a bit. Instead of his brown vest and green shirt, he wore a black tank top and a red, button up plaid shirt with blue jeans.

Max held in a laugh. He still manages to look like a outdoorsy fellow. 

He sat down on the chair next to Max's bed and held out a cup. 

"The doctors said it should be fine for you to take in some liquids."

"Coffee?" Max raised a brow as he took the drink and inspected it. 

"Nope. Just water. You have to get used to it so take slow sips, otherwise you'll make yourself sick." 

Max noticed the bendy straw and thought of how David was the one that probably got it for him. Probably spent 30 minutes picking out the perfect color. 

Max kinda felt bad for that.

For making David worry about him so much.

"Thanks." Max took a experimental sip and sighed. 

It's so refreshing to finally have water again. Max's throat has been aching for a drink, but apparently you're not supposed to drink or eat anything after waking up from a coma? 

Was that what Max was in? 

He wondered what David did during that time. 

During that time…

Shit. 

"David?" Max turned to look at his guardian, who was fiddling with the cabinets. 

"Yes Max?" David turned and tilted his head toward Max. Max was surprised he hadn't asked earlier. Also wondered why no one told him. 

"How long was I out?" 

David's eyes grew wide. Looks like he wasn't expecting that question. 

Or maybe he wanted to forget Max was ever asleep?

Who knows. 

David swallowed, his Adams apple bobbed slightly and he looked away. 

"Uhm, about 4ish weeks? I kind of lost track of the days after awhile." 

"Damn, 4 weeks?" Max's eyes widened, he looked at the sheets of his bed and took a breath. 

"Max?" Max turned, still astonished at the time frame. Even though he feels like just yesterday he was contemplating all his life choices in a bathroom.

"What?" Max knew he fucked up by the look on David's face. He knew he fucked up with bringing the subject of his near death experience up. It was the look on David's face that gave it all away. 

David held a nervous stare. A concerned stare. But mostly? A stare filled with grief. 

David's eyes darted around the room, careful to look everywhere BUT at Max. The dark hues of green were narrowed and glossy with tears. Making his eyes shine yet dim simultaneously. His hands fiddled at his sides, fingers dancing with the hems of his jeans. 

Max swallowed. The sore feeling in his throat gave him a painful reminder that this is real. David's smile is actually gone and Max is laying in a hospital bed, being the cause of David's sadness.

"W-Why?" David stuttered. He was reluctant to ask the question, Max is reluctant to answer. Max wondered if he was afraid of upsetting Max. Or maybe he's afraid of the answer he'll get?

"There's no real reason why David." Which is true. There's no one that can pin point the exact reason of depression. Of suicidal tendencies. Depression isn't just a matter of a cause and effect Venn diagram style that you used to do in school.

Some days, you don't even know why.

Sometimes just your food not cooking right in the microwave can make you break down in tears. Your parents telling you that you can't do something can bring on a tsunami of overwhelming emotions.

Other days your world falls apart in a single moment and you don't bat an eye. 

One day you're screaming at the top of your lungs. 

The next you're wondering why you screamed so loud, especially if you knew your voice was going to be sore the next day.

One day you're in the bathroom, tears streaming down your face with a razor in your hand. 

The next you're wondering why you cut so many times. You're wondering how you'll hide them. You wonder if someone will find your scars. You wonder what they'll say.

And then the next day you can't even comprehend why you got up this morning.

And it's not a matter of how strong you are mentally. 

It's a matter of your breaking point. 

Your psychotic break. 

The straw that broke the camel's back.

Max can't answer David's question. 

He can't answer a question he has yet to learn himself. 

Why did he try to commit suicide? 

Now that Max thinks about it, he can't remember.

What was his breaking point? 

Or was he already broken?


	9. Words

Words are powerful. 

Words can paint an image.

Or tear it to pieces. 

Words are deceitful. 

Words are kind. 

Words are lies hidden within the truth. And vice versa. 

Words can be used to manipulate. To make someone think one thing, do one thing, but the exact opposite will be the result. 

Words can burn even the sturdiest bridges. 

If words are powerful, what does that make of sentences? 

Or paragraphs? 

Essays? 

Novels?

How powerful is a sentence?

Hate is a powerful word, but 'I hate you' is worse. Painful.

Love is powerful word, but 'I love you' is better. Touching.

Now, put powerful sentences together and make a paragraph. 5-7 sentences. Think of a 5 to 7 sentences of describing how you hate someone. 

The next paragraph is how much. 

The third is why. 

But don't forget your introduction and conclusion. 

Imagine someone writing it to you. 

You may know them. 

You may not. 

But why does that matter? 

Who cares who hates you. It's none of your business and it's their problem.

But to hear it? 

To hear all the reasons you're not good enough for someone else. 

Hearing it makes a difference. 

Because words are powerful. 

You can be weak and lanky, but if you have a way with words? 

You're unstoppable. 

If it's anonymous? 

You can say whatever you want. To whoever you want. 

Words are a method of destruction. 

Words are a method of peace. 

Max has only known destruction. 

From his parents. 

His friends. 

From everyone. 

He's convinced he's just an unlikeable person. 

Because that's what they all told him. 

They all told him how awful he is. 

How idiotic.

How pitiful.

How he should go kill himself. 

And Max listened.

How could he not? 

A word from someone means nothing to him. 

But words form sentences and sentences form paragraphs and soon enough? 

You find it true. 

Even if you know it's not. Even if few tell you it's not. 

Rome wasn't built in a day, but it burned in one. 

Your self confidence is constructed based on how amazing people tell you that you are. How smart you are. How unbelievably beautiful. How kind, and what have you.

But everything can come down in flames with a comment on an Instagram photo. 

A mention of your poor taste in fashion at school. 

A heated conversation ending with the mistake you are, by your parents.

Maybe that's what pushed Max to the edge? 

Maybe he was tired of listening. 

To the hateful sayings of his peers. 

Words can change a life.

~

Max almost gagged. 

The thought of actually talking about his feelings with a stranger made him uncomfortable. Hell, talking about such a serious topic with someone he trusts makes him uncomfortable. 

But a therapist?

Max hates therapists. 

He hates the way they can pick apart your very being. 

He hates how they always know more about you than, well, than you do. 

He's supposed to be heading there in an hour.

"Max?" Max looked towards the door of his room to see a slight smile on the red heads face as his head appeared through the partially open doorway. He narrowed his eyes. David's smile was weirding him out, but he couldn't figure out why.

"You have guests!" David opened the door fully and dramatically. Max stared behind him. 

There stood a tall and lanky nerd with curly hair and a tiny but mighty pink eyed girl. 

"Shit." Max muttered under his breath and turned away from the door. 

Nikki and Neil let themselves into the room, Nikki holding a 'Get Well Soon' balloon, and Neil holding fake flowers from the gift shop in the hospital. 

"Hey Max, how ya feeling?" Nikki hopped onto the bed and swung her feet. Neil took a seat in the chair sitting next to Max and gave a sheepish smile. 

"I'm, uh, I'm good. Wha-What are you guys doing here?" Max was truly confused. Probably not as much as his childhood friends, but still confused none the less. 

"Weeelll~ Neil and I were worried about you after you stopped answering our texts." Nikki looked towards Neil. 

"And since it's summer, we figured why not visit?" Neil set the flowers down on the floor next to him and clasped his hands together in his lap. 

"Oh. How did you know I was here?" 

"David." Neil shrugged. 

"We kind of caught him off guard on his way here, we were at the house when he left, so we followed him." Nikki explained. Max nodded in a daze. 

"Oh." 

Max didn't know what to say. 

He didn't know what he could say. 

He didn't know how to ease the situation and the awkward tension between him and his friends. 

Max guessed they didn't either by their lack of vocal response. 

"Well I have to get to therapy." Max clicked the call button. A voice came through and asked him what he needed. 

"I'm ready to head to therapy." He clicked off after an 'okay' and turned to his friends. 

"Sorry, but I have to go. It's stupid really." Max rolled his eyes to show his distaste for therapy, but in all honesty? 

He couldn't be happier to go to therapy at this particular moment.


	10. Changes

Studying. 

We all know the word. 

We've all studied something. 

Or tried to.

Max was born with a quick wit and was a quick learner. Max loved school, believe it or not. Not the people there, they fucking suck.

Max loved learning, and he was good at it.

All through elementary school he didn't have to study. 

Not a damn bit. 

The teachers taught a lesson and he got it completely. 

He'd have the homework done in a matter of minutes when some kids struggled for hours. 

Max is an intelligent kid. 

Max is an intelligent kid that never had to study. 

Not through middle school. Through junior high. 

Everything in school was easy.

It was the one thing he felt good about. Mainly because Max loved learning. 

He loved learning about science and why things happened. He loved English and writing. He loved math and the feeling he got when he finally solved an equation. He loved history and learning why we do the things we do and what caused it.

And then high school came. 

Max was a young, unprepared, yet intelligent boy. 

Max walked into all 8 of his advanced classes not expecting the change. 

Not expecting being handed a sheet of notes and a pat on the back, the teachers telling the students 'good luck'. 

How is Max supposed to understand math if he doesn't know how to answer the problems?  
How is he supposed to pass a class when the teacher teaches a different section every day?

How is he supposed to react to that first F? 

He tries to catch up. 

But the second he understands a section, the class is already in the next chapter. 

Math was first to go.

And now science isn't working out. 

Now, he has to memorize 30 polyatomic ions and how to apply them in chemistry.

Now he has to read through 4 papers in history by Friday.

But Max was thankful for English. 

He was a writing god. 

Writing 5 paragraph essays in 30 minutes like it was a breeze. 

He struggled through freshman year, but he still had English.

Well, he did.

Now Max has to read 50 page chapters a night for a test the next day. 

On top of studying multiple sections of math. 

And mix in memorizing the periodic table and reading papers and filling in answers for history. 

But don't forget about his other 4 classes.

All the other kids are getting straight A's. Hell, B's at least.

Why is he the only one that can't? 

His heart aches everytime his test is handed back. With the paper flipped over and that disappointed look in his teachers eyes. 

How the teacher will mention how some kids need to study more and Max knows it's directed at him. 

He can't look at the kid sitting next to him.

Knowing the kid has a smile on their face because of that A. The A he worked hard for.

Max worked hard too. 

He studied. 

He tried. 

Why is he failing? 

Is he stupid? 

His math teacher recommended studying 2 hours for each class.

How is he supposed to study 2 hours for all of his 8 classes a night? 

How is he supposed to spend the 2 hours studying if he can barely get out of bed in the morning?

How is he supposed to study when his depression just drags him down? 

Why study if you can't pass anyway. You're not smart enough for it.

Why can't he do it?

Everyone else is doing it.

Why can't Max do anything right? 

He couldn't please his parents. 

He couldn't make friends. 

But the one thing he had? 

That's gone too. 

How is Max supposed to get up each morning with nothing to look forward to? 

He hates going to school now. 

Which makes sense. I mean, who wants to go to a place that just screams 'stupid' in your face? 

Max was an intelligent kid. 

He's not so sure anymore. 

~

Of course it's generic. 

The carpet was a deep fluffy red and the walls were painted a tan brown. 

An old man sat in a brownish black leather chair across from a red leather love seat thing. Max had to roll his eyes.

The man had a gentle smile and a caring gaze as Max was wheeled into the room. 

"Good day!" Max nodded as the nurse gently helped him stand and he sat down in the chair. Max used to complain about the nurses helping him with everything. 

It pissed him off. But now he doesn't waste his breath.

Max can walk, he just likes the wheelchair. It's comfy. 

"How are you today Max?" Max shrugged. 

"Fine." The therapist nodded. 

"But how are you feeling today Max?" The therapist leaned forward in his chair. 

"Fine." Max barked. He glared at the man. He hates therapists. The man nodded and leaned back. Like he knew something. 

"What?" The man just shrugged and shook his head. "If you have something to say old man, say it." Max was already irritated and he'd only been in the room for five minutes. 

"You don't need to be nervous Max." Max pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. "I won't bite. I have dentures." 

Max almost smiled at that. 

Almost.

"So what am I supposed to talk about Doc?" Max sighed in defeat and leaned back in his seat. "How tired I am of everything? How I shake my fist at all the rotten kids these days?" The man smiled at the obvious jerk at his age. 

"Whatever you want. I'm getting paid by the hour. So take all the time you need, just talk about something." 

"You say 'something' like I'm ultimately supposed to know what to talk about." Max groans and throws his legs up onto the chair. 

"How about David? How's he been to you?" 

"David's great. Thanks for asking." 

"Have you talked to him about, anything relating your suicide attempt?" Max internally whinced at that. 

"There's nothing to talk about." 

"Really? Are you sure David feels the same way?" 

"I think this session is over Doc." The man smiled as Max moved to get up. That stupid knowing smile of his.

"I'll see you overmorrow then Max." 

Max hates therapists.


	11. Numb

It takes a lot. 

To cut the skin.

To crawl deeper into the depths of your mind. 

To stare at the blood dripping down your arm. 

People say you're doing it for attention. 

But they don't know. 

They don't know how much it hurts. 

They don't know how much darkness consumes you. 

How it seeps out of your pores, surrounding you. 

Until you can't even think. Your mind isn't your own, and neither is your body. Your feet just move. Your hands just grab and press into your skin. 

You don't even realize you're bleeding until it's dried. You lost the painful feeling. You lose the coping method of destruction when you can't feel it. 

So what so you do? 

You press. 

And press. 

And press.

Deeper. 

And deeper. 

Into your skin. 

Craving the pain. Craving the comfort of feeling again. 

Then you're bleeding. 

More than usual. 

It's squirting out at an alarming rate. It hurts, but you don't care. Because you can feel the pain. 

And what does pain mean?

It means you're alive. 

That this is all real and happening. 

And it's happening fast.

And then you're numb again.

~

It was raining that morning. 

The sky was a dark gray and his vision was blurred by the storm. 

It was a dull yet beautiful day. 

Max could smell the rain as he walked home from school. He could've rode the bus, but he would've rather walked in the rain. 

It was a frigid storm. The raindrops pierced his skin like sharp isicles. Max didn't bring a jacket that day, but he didn't mind that either. 

The sound of the rain was the only thing heard, excluding the occasional car driving by. It was peaceful. He wished the moment would never end. 

Even as he entered his home, he could hear the rhytmatic beating against the windows and rooftop. 

The sound was consistent. 

Never ending. 

The noise seemed to continue for an eternity as Max prepared for a warm bath. 

Max decided to go all out. Using bubble solution and everything. 

After a bit of waiting, he finally removed his clothes and sat in the water. 

The warmth sent shivers up his spine as he finally relaxed. Letting the beating of the rain lull him deeper into his relaxed state. 

Max never wanted this moment to end. 

But all good things come to an end, don't they?

A simple 'bing' from his phone was enough to ruin the moment entirely. 

He reached down and grabbed his phone, which was seated nicely on his green towel. 

He dried off his hands slightly and unlocked his phone. 

'No New Messages' 

Max sighed. It was just a YouTube notification. 

Of course it was. 

Max didn't know what he expected. Why would anyone text him? It's not like he's wanted by anyone. 

Neil and Nikki try, but distance is hard. 

They'd text here and there, but they had their own lives. 

Their own friends. 

Excluding Max. 

He had never felt so alone before. 

The warmth around him even left, slowly turning into the frigid room temperature. Leaving him, just like everyone else. 

Max curled around himself, craddling his knees to his chest. 

His chest ached. 

His head hurt.

His mind was damaged.

His lungs were filled with water.

Even with his head hanging above the cold water, he felt as if he was drowning.

 

Drowing.

Suffocation by water. The action of water filling your lungs, tearing you down into the depths of the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end of the story! (Hint hint another part will be added to the Defining Us series I'm writing)  
> Just the end of this part of it.  
> The story will go more in depth with the characters story and what's happening now, rather than the feeling and what brought Max to this point.


End file.
